


Glitch in the System: Fight Club

by SystemGlitch



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 07:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14131467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SystemGlitch/pseuds/SystemGlitch
Summary: By E.Dirty fighting happens.





	Glitch in the System: Fight Club

“It is time to go,” Widow said, hands on her hips as she stood in Sombra’s doorway with an impatient look edging her features. She was dressed to kill - literally - in loose sweats and carrying a bag of sparring pads over her shoulder. Somehow she managed to make pre-workout look good. She made  _everything_  look good.

It was a trap and Sombra knew it.

“Busy now,” she replied, resolutely not looking back at her. She was sitting at her desk for once viewing something on her screen, its importance questionable, but she’d have read through a binary translation of one of Widow’s old French tomes if it made her look too busy for sparring. “Maybe next time.”

“You cannot continue skipping training,” Widowmaker sighed, dropping the bag at her side. It hit with a louder thump than usual, and Sombra wondered if today was training with weapons or if the woman was just extra vexed at her refusal. “When is the last time you went?”

Sombra shrugged, making a show of thinking about it.  _Three months ago_. “Last month?” she said instead.

“ _Non_ , not as I recall. And anyway,” Widow continued, lips pursed in disapproval, “more is better than less. It is important we stay sharp.”

“I’m not an assassin,  _cielito,_ ” Sombra replied dramatically, swinging around on her chair so she was looking through her hard light screen at the other woman. The light distorted her face, and she wiggled around until Widowmaker’s eyes were side by side and her nose had disappeared in the refraction. She grinned stupidly, her expression wicking away every ounce of professionalism in her words. “I’m an information analyst.”

“An information analyst who carries a gun and has a body count,” was Widow’s unphased, stern response, which Sombra had a hard time taking seriously while the sniper had no nose.

“Part of the job,” Sombra replied offhandedly. “Sometimes you look at computers - doesn’t mean you need to practice hacking them.”

“The instances in which I need to ‘look at computers’ are far fewer than the times in which you need to engage in acts of violence.” Widow wasn’t budging on the topic. Sombra wasn’t surprised. She shifted her screens so Widow’s nose returned, but her left ear vanished and her forehead was inhumanly pointy.

“That’s why I keep you around,” she said, smiling sweetly through the flickering purple screen. “Get you to do my dirty work.”

“Your dirty work,” Widow repeated, the note of incredulity in her voice enhanced by the arch of her left brow. “I have seen you pistol-whip a man and shoot him point blank in the head.”

“Heat of the moment,” Sombra shrugged dismissively. “Besides, that’s hardly hand to hand combat. I’m an opportunist. I make opportunities and exploit them.”

“You cannot define a word using the word itself.”

“Watch me.”

Widowmaker rubbed the bridge of her nose, eyes closed as she outwardly battled a deep vexation. “Regardless, you wouldn’t need to  _create opportunity_  if you would  _go to sparring_  like you are supposed to.”

“Maybe,” Sombra shrugged, leaning back in a resolute picture of stubbornness. “But where’s the fun in that?”

Widowmaker had no immediate rejoinder, her golden eyes fixed firmly on Sombra’s own. Sombra could almost see the complex machine that was her brain cranking furiously, and watched as she creased her eyebrows thoughtfully. “Does Gabriel know you have been skipping training?” she asked finally, her voice far more flippant than the inherent threat heavy in the words themselves.

Sombra shifted her screens to the side so she could look at her clearly. “Maybe.”

“Sombra.”

“I make sure my time is logged,” she said evasively, quickly trying to calculate her intent.

Widowmaker nodded slowly and looked down at her wrist. “Well, we have lost ten minutes already. Perhaps we can forego training today, and review past training videos,” she said, eyebrow raised threateningly. “Perhaps I can ask Gabriel to recall them so you can study your technique?”

Sombra watched as she punched in the first three numbers of Gabriel’s personal comms number, looking up pointedly as she did. “You wouldn’t,” Sombra said under her breath.

“Ah, but I would,  _mon coeur_.”

“ _No mames_ ,” Sombra swore, swiping her console away in a shower of angry sparks. “You’re terrible.”

“ _Oui_. It is as they say,” she said, smiling just enough to irritate Sombra further, “‘tough love.’”

Sombra groaned. “Let me get dressed.”

“See you downstairs in ten,” Widow replied sweetly, and Sombra watched her walk away with a sway to her hips that only accented the air of victory she’d left in her wake.

* * *

“Oof,” Sombra exhaled as Widow punched her for the fifth time in the stomach. The first two she’d chalked up to being rusty; the rest she had to admit were just because she was terrible at close combat. “Stop that.”

“The pain is your teacher. Block and you will be fine.” Widow sidestepped backwards with the grace of a dancer, her extensive background in ballet showing in her footwork and agility. Sombra was pretty sure there wasn’t punching in ballet, but clearly it was a skill Widowmaker had no problem picking up in more recent years.

“I can’t block if you keep hitting me,” Sombra answered sourly. Even so, she made a good faith effort at protecting herself from Widow’s next blow. Miraculously, it seemed to work, for that and the next, and the next after that. For a moment, Sombra felt the familiar light of success ignite inside her, and she felt good.

At least until Widow’s next blow was a fake to her left that landed square in her jaw.

“ _Ya valió madres_ ,” she cursed, nearly spinning around from the hit. Their sparring gear helped prevent injuries, but it did little to soften the impact of a well-placed fist. “Can we be done yet?”

Widowmaker stood back, hands behind her back. She hadn’t even broken a sweat yet. “It has been five minutes, Sombra,” she replied, her unnatural patience even more maddening than usual. “It is unlike you to admit defeat.”

“I’m not admitting shit,” she replied, narrowing her eyes. “I’m out of my element. It’s not fair.”

“What was it you said?” Widow asked, canting her head in a maddening display of cool superiority. “‘Where’s the fun in playing fair?’”

“Low blow, spider, spitting my own taunts back at me like that.”

“Allow me to aim a bit higher this time.” In a move Sombra only barely saw coming, Widow faked her yet again, hooking an ankle behind Sombra’s and flipping the smaller woman forward over her leg. She grabbed her collar before she hit the ground, saving her from an uncomfortable fall onto the padded floor.

“For fuck’s sake Widow,” she choked, and Widow hauled her back to her feet. “You can’t even let me take my punishment properly.”

“A deviation from the norm,” she replied demurely, and Sombra blushed.

“This is why I forge my attendance records.”

“And perhaps evidence as to why you should not.” Widowmaker placed her hands by her sides and stood tauntingly close to Sombra. “Shall we start with the basics?”

“I know a trap when I see one,  _araña_ ,” she said, narrowing her eyes at the obvious bait and taking an involuntary step back. Widowmaker fell into a combat stance and hooked with her right, landing a glancing blow on Sombra’s shoulder.

“Did you not get into fights in Dorado?” Widow asked, sounding genuinely curious, but utterly unable to shelve the self-satisfied smirk reaching across her face as she levied another hit towards Sombra’s cheek.

“Plenty of them,” Sobra said, dodging at the last minute.

“And you came away with nothing from this,” Widow asked. She was trying to goad her into attacking, assailing her with a barrage of lazy, easy hits to push Sombra into making a careless move. It was a good tactic, all told; Sombra was certainly eager to smack her after she’d effortlessly wiped the floor with her for the past several.

“Not entirely,” she grumbled. “Just nothing like this weird battle dancing you do.” To be fair, Sombra had ample experience in the art of hand to hand combat. She’d learned in real time, on the streets, as a gut reaction to situations in which her livelihood or her life had been in danger. While Widow’s combat expertise had been born of trained agility and precision, Sombra’s had been the result of survival and getting along by the skin of her teeth.

Now that she thought about it, arms raw from hits she hadn’t been fast enough to counter, she realized she might have an advantage in this skirmish after all.

“Battle dancing,” Widowmaker smiled, moving like liquid as she watched Sombra deep in thought. “A fitting term.”

Sombra smirked in response, and changed her perception from the sparring ring to a cluttered alley, and Widow was no longer a frustrating challenge but a rival gang member with a shiv and a grudge.

Sombra looked around as Widow bobbed and weaved before her, taking pot shots at the sniper with no real intention of hitting her so much as moving her into an advantageous position.

“ _Apagando las luces_ ,” she whispered, the old phrase bringing back a slew of memories as she used it not to destroy a mechanical neural network but bring her shoulder down as Widow swung for her head that was no longer where it should be. The sniper faltered, a look of shock crossing her face, and Sombra rushed forward to bridge the gap.

Her shoulder hit Widow in the stomach, knocking the wind audibly out of her as she slammed her body into the taller woman’s solar plexus, sending her backwards over a pile of blue mats at the edge of the sparring ring. Widowmaker had no chance to recover, toppling backwards without an ounce of grace in a heap that Sombra couldn’t help but laugh at as she tumbled right along after her.

“Gotcha,” she said, landing gracelessly on top of her. She could almost ignore the throbbing pain in both her arms and stomach in the face of her sudden, unexpected victory.

Widowmaker looked up from where she lay, flopped over the pile of stacked mats, splayed on the floor with the other woman sprawled on top of her. “That was terrible form,” she said, making no move to get up as Sombra rested her elbows alongside Widow’s head.

“Well it wasn’t your fancy fucking jiu-jitsu, but I still won the fight,” Sombra replied.

“Through deception.”

“Through  _savvy_ ,” she replied, shaking her head and bringing her face closer. “You were right.”

Sombra could feel Widowmaker’s hands creeping up her back. “I was?” she asked, voice shifting from reluctance to a soft purr.

“Yeah,” Sombra said, pressed against the length of her. “I do know how to fight.”

“You certainly know how to brawl,” Widow agreed against her ear, lips brushing along her neck. “With zero finesse.”

“Whatever,” Sombra grinned, pulling back just out of reach, unwilling to give up her victory so soon. “You’re just sour you lost.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.” Sombra laughed and allowed Widow to hold her in place as she pressed her hands to either side of her face and gifted her with a deep kiss.

“This is different than how we sparred in Overwatch,” Gabriel’s voice announced, his voice rough and sudden, but nurturing enough amusement that Sombra didn’t bother standing right away.

“Not what I’ve heard,” she muttered to herself. Widowmaker smirked.

“Excuse me?” Gabriel said, and Sombra didn’t have to look back to see his eyebrow raised.

“Nothing, boss,” she replied, and pushed herself to her feet. “Just teaching Widow how to fight dirty.”

Gabriel grimaced and Widowmaker made a noise of deep discomfort. “I see,” he said, fighting to keep a smile from forming on the black wisps emanating from his lips. “Well perhaps you can continue this particular lesson elsewhere. I need the gym for some recruit drills.”

“Absolutely,” Sombra laughed, hauling Widowmaker up from the ground and pulling her towards the door.

“Oh, and Sombra?” Gabriel added as she trotted across the gym.

“What?” Sombra asked, immediately suspicious.

“You owe me three months of training. I expect to see you here again,” he said, not turning from where he stood, a scarred shadow with its arms held behind its back. Sombra knew without any question that the fucker was grinning like an idiot. “Double time until you catch up.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” she sighed, pressing her fingers to her forehead.

“Is this a good time for an I told you so?” Widow asked, affecting innocence.

Sombra turned and walked away, leaving Widowmaker and her shit-eating grin to catch up later.


End file.
